


A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Cetho

by DachOsmin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Elvish Social Mores Made Them do It, Gay Bar, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: When the Emperor's safety is threatened, Lieutenant Beshelar is willing to do whatever it takes to protect him. Even at the cost of his own heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lebateleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/gifts).



Springtime in Cetho heralded an elvish tradition beloved by commoners and hated by nobles both: the Emperor’s progress, a yearly tour of the Elflands by her sitting ruler. In truth Maia had been looking forward to the expedition since the snows had started melting: pent up in either mountain estates or the Imperial residences, he had seen vanishingly little of the world around him.

Unfortunately, trouble seemed to follow wherever he went and though Tethimar and Chavar had been dealt with, there were still any number of lesser lordlings with more pride than sense, eager to rebel. Chief among them was the governor of Amalo, who was kind enough to wait until Maia had arrived in the city to declare that he would never suffer a goblin as his emperor while he yet drew breath.

In an attempt at courtesy that he had since found himself regretting, Maia had commanded his soldiers to picket their tents outside the city walls. Thus the governor’s betrayal found Maia running through the alleys of a strange city with a provincial army on his tail and none but his first nohecharei to protect him.  

Cala, who had hidden their trail with a riot of conjured butterflies, finally judged one alley to be safe enough to hide in for the moment. Maia, his lungs burning from their flight, was abjectly grateful for it. “Where to next?” he panted.

Beshelar, whose visage had been stuck on a frown since the governor’s betrayal, had the grace to offer him a water skin. “We do not wish to pick a path lightly, Serenity. In truth, we lived in Amalo for a number of years in our youth and know the streets well enough, but we fear they are crawling with soldiers by now.”

Cala frowned, fingers fidgeting as he scanned the ends of the alleyway for threats. “We could head straight for the city walls; they aren’t so very far from here. We could provide cover whilst you guide him, Deret.”

But Beshelar was already shaking his head. “The assassins will be watching the gates for His Serenity’s return. I mean no malice to your skill, but you cannot ward against that many attackers all at once.”

The furrows in Cala’s brow deepened. “Perhaps if we tried the sewers: they were built in Varechnibel II’s time… “

Maia never heard the end of Cala’s thought because Beshelar was already shaking his head. “The sewers were grated off after the last Barizheise incursion used them.”

The three stood in silent thought. Maia wished desperately that he could contribute one idea or another, but alas, he knew nothing of Amalo other than the perfectly inane fact that it was known for its pomegranate orchards. _Some emperor thou art_ , he thought wryly. _More like a damsel in distress, to be carried to safety by thy brave knights._

As if on cue, Beshelar was kneeling before him in the middle of the alley, heedless of the muck and hay now staining his trousers. “Serenity,” he began, his voice overwrought like Maia had never heard it before. “We think we may have a solution. We weep that we must suggest such an uncouth thing to you, but for your safety, we would do anything. If you are offended, we will resign after we have seen you safely back to Cetho, and if it is your wish we will commit revethvoran as well.” 

 Maia swallowed, unnerved by the intensity in his voice. “We are quite sure that will not be necessary. What is your solution, if we may ask?”

"There is a tavern nearby that we know. We could… go there." He fell silent, staring at the ground as if eager for Maia's judgement. 

Maia waited, but that was all it seemed he had to say. "Forgive us if we are missing something,” he said, "but why should we be so very offended by such a suggestion?" 

"You shouldn't be," Cala cut in tartly, "Lieutenant Beshelar is overreacting, as is his wont." 

That roused a glare from Beshelar. "Cala, you know what we-" 

"What we know, Lieutenant, is that the Emperor is in dire peril. And if this… tavern is safe, we think there should be no more discussion of it, and you should take Serenity there posthaste." He turned to Maia with an assessing eye. "Though he certainly cannot go like that." 

Maia blushed as they both turned to face him, taking in the blinding white of his robes with twin frowns. 

Beshelar sighed and began to rummage around in his rucksack. "I have something that might suffice." He pulled out a variety of brightly colored clothes as well as a small glass jar stoppered with a wad of red wax. He handed it to Cala mutely, then busied himself replacing Maia’s robes with his own clothing.

Cala took the jar, frowning. "Kohl, Deret?"

"For his eyes," Beshelar muttered. 

Cala made an understanding noise and twisted the jar open, scooping a dollop of pitch-black unguent with his finger. "Close your eyes, Serenity," he murmured. 

 Maia's eyes fluttered shut. He stood in silence, letting Beshelar arrange and tie his clothing while Cala painted his eyes. Despite the direness of the situation, Cala's fingers were gentle against his skin. Maia let himself lean into his touch, anything to ground himself and prevent his fear from bubbling out of control. 

His edocharaei sometimes painted his eyes, limning them in delicate traceries of crushed lapis powder. The kohl felt heavier, weighing down his eyelids and clumping his lashes so that he could feel them when they batted against his skin. 

Cala pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, head tilted as he squinted at Maia. “He looks like…” 

“I know what he looks like,” Beshelar muttered, ears flattening on the back of his head. Maia winced as Beshelar jerked the laces on his breeches tighter.  

It seemed Maia was the only one who did not in fact have any idea what he looked like. The clothes felt tight on his body, but after years of ill-fitting cast-offs at Edonomee and a shorter spate of well-tailored imperial robes, he supposed it was just his imagination. He peered down at his arms and legs but saw nothing odd except for the darker colors of the cloth. After months clothed only in imperial white the other shades seemed alien on his body. _Thou hast become a dandy,_ he thought with no little amusement. _What would Setheris think?_  

After several more murmured deliberations and adjustments of Maia's breeches, Cala and Deret stepped back to review their handiwork. Cala frowned, biting his lip. "The costume is good, but Deret, his coloring..." 

Maia felt his ears droop; to have the men he trusted above all others comment so frankly on his ugliness…

Beshelar was shaking his head, heedless of Maia's turmoil. "The coloring won't be a problem." 

Cala raised an eyebrow. "It's somewhat distinctive, you must admit. Especially for a..." 

Beshelar busied himself unlacing the neck of Maia's shift so that it hung open, exposing his collarbone to the cold air. "There are... impersonators," he muttered at length, avoiding Cala's eyes. "It will not be remarked upon." 

Cala's eyes widened like an owl's behind his spectacles, and he looked at Beshelar with a new intensity, as if several things opaque had just been made clear. "Deret..." 

Maia still felt very much in the dark. Why would anyone wish to impersonate him? But then he remembered the _michen-_ operas Min Vechin had once told him about, the ones where politicians and other notables were redesigned as puppets and made to act out various farces. Perhaps there were actors that dressed up as Maia as well, and his nohecharei simply meant to shield him from these mockeries.

 They split apart soon after, Cala to slip past their pursuers to find help, Maia and Beshelar to hide in the tavern. It looked ominous from the outside, though who was Maia to judge? The windows were heavily curtained, so that try as Maia might he couldn’t see more than a hint of light looking in. Beshelar put an arm around his shoulder with a murmured apology, and Maia found himself clinging to Beshelar’s side as they walked through the door and into the darkness of the tavern. What sort of place was this, to elicit such shame from Beshelar?

He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before peering around the room. There were no pyramids of skulls in the corners or wanton debaucheries taking place on the bar. He swallowed the breath he had been holding and immediately felt quite foolish indeed. It was a normal room in all respects, as far as he could tell. The walls were gaily patterned with bits of mirror, and a smatter of mismatched tables were scattered around a central bar. There were men drinking flagons of metheglin in all corners of the room, but none seemed to be the monsters that Beshelar’s nature had suggested.

"They are all marnei," Beshelar murmured into Maia's ear.  

"Oh." Maia looked around with wide eyes. Indeed, all the patrons did appear to be men. Some wore shimmer on their eyelids, and others had more hoops in their ears than he generally saw at court, but for the most part they seemed no different from the dandies of Nurevis Chavar's parties. "And they will hide us?" 

"We hope that the men searching for you will pass this establishment by. It is thought by many," said Beshelar in a low voice, not looking at him, "that being in the presence of marnei can... make one into a marnis as well, as it were. And soldiers especially tend to think thus." 

Maia frowned despite himself. "But that makes no sense! Does a man who loves the company of women become a woman?”

“Well-“

“Hadra!” the barkeep called out suddenly. He was older, with golden beads braided into the trails of his thick white mustache. “It’s been too long! What brings thee back to Amalo?”

After a moment of confusion, Maia realized the words, familiarity, and all, were aimed at Beshelar, who was quickly turning the color of a dull rose. “Just passing through, Paret,” he said, trying to push Maia ahead of him, towards the back of the room.

Paret, as it seemed he was called, clucked his teeth at that. “Hardly a warm welcome for an old friend.”

With a sigh Beshelar straightened and guided Maia over to the bar. “I meant no coldness in my manner. Truly it is good to see thee, and see that the house is thriving. But I have trouble on my heels tonight and had hoped to wait it out in the alcoves.”

Paret narrowed his eyes, his mouth thinning under his mustache. “Trouble, sayest? Is it thine or the house’s?”

Beshelar offered Paret a dry smile. “All mine this time, lucky for thee,” he said, sliding two coins across the surface of the bar. “But I’d rather not be disturbed, if thou takest my meaning.”

Paret chuckle “Keep thy coin, scoundrel.” He looked at Maia, still clinging to Beshelar’s arm with wide eyes, and offered him a wink. “Shalt be needing it tonight, it looks to me.”

Beshelar was resolutely avoiding Maia’s gaze. “Perhaps,” he said unhappily. “But all the same, keep it.” And with that he marched Maia away from the bar like a soldier in retreat.

“Hadra?” Maia finally gathered the courage to ask.

“It is… not done to give one’s real name in such a place, Serenity.”

“Then thou shouldst not call me Serenity, Hadra,” Maia said with a smile, hoping to inject some levity into the proceedings and ease whatever weight Beshelar was carrying about his neck like a millstone.

Yet Beshelar’s mouth twisted into an unhappy frown at that and his grip tightened the slightest bit against Maia’s arm. “If that is what you wish. But we beg you not to call us that, not here.”

Maia snuck a peek back at Paret, who was watching them with a frown. He was missing something here, and was quite unsure of what it could be. Was Beshelar ashamed that Maia knew he frequented marnei taverns? But how could he: Maia had freely and happily met with Thara Celehar all manner of times in Beshelar’s presence, and Mer Celehar had been quite open about his own inclinations.

A sudden pounding on the front door forestalled any questions he might have asked. Beside him, Beshelar swore viciously under his breath. “We had hoped- never mind. We shall need to hide upstairs, in the alcoves.”

Maia followed his gaze to a balcony overlooking the main bar. The wall was lined with niches, each covered with a red curtain. “Do any of them exit the building?” Maia asked hopefully.

“No,” Beshelar said. “But we hope the soldiers’ courage won’t extend to checking.” And with a murmured apology he swung Maia into his arms and headed for the stairs. Maia, for his part, clung to Beshelar like a limpet as he carried him.

Beshelar steered towards the second to last alcove for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to Maia. He ducked them under the curtain with another murmured apology and deposited Maia on the padded bench inside before peering back out at the bar. Lit only by the sliver of light let in below the curtain, Maia watched Beshelar’s hand go reflexively to his hip, where his scabbard normally hung.

 “Are they coming upstairs?” he whispered, trying to be brave. Perhaps they wouldn’t, Beshelar had said they might not-

But Beshelar was nodding grimly, and then pulling the curtain shut with a curt flick of his wrist. He moved to sit beside Maia on the bench, so close that their sides were pressed together and he could feel Beshelar’s spiking heartbeat where their skin touched.

"I need you to moan, Serenity. Can you do that?" 

There were boots on the stairs outside. Maia blinked in the darkness and tried to gather his thoughts. Moan? He let out a soft groan, the way he imagined one might sound in the throes of passion. It came out more like the braying of a donkey.

Beshelar cut him off with a quick shake of his head. "Not like- Recall your most ardent embrace, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. Relive that, remember how it felt. That kind of moan." 

Maia was abruptly grateful for the darkness of the alcove, to better hide the shame that was even now heating his face. For how could Beshelar know, that no one had ever wanted him thusly? Release had always been a solitary affair, silently and shamefully conducted in the cold confines of his chamber. And since becoming emperor, he had not the time to indulge in such fancies. "I've, I've never," he muttered, hating that he had to name this aloud, one more thing he was deficient in. 

He could just make out Beshelar blink beside him. "Perhaps- Your fiancee-" 

"She writes me letters," he tried. Goddesses, did his voice always sound so small? 

Beshelar opened his mouth, closed it. "It need not be- Think of a passionate kiss, perhaps?" 

His mind went to his mother, of all places. She was the last one that had touched him with anything akin to warmth; every night she would plant a kiss on his brow, her hands carding through his hair. Somehow he doubted that was what Beshelar meant. "I haven't that, either," he gritted out, ears burning. "Who would kiss a hobgoblin?" And immediately he felt a choking guilt, for here was Beshelar, doing his best to save both of their lives, and Maia could contribute nothing more than gripes about the dearth of romance in his life. 

 Beshelar closed his eyes, his lips moving in motions of prayer. In the silence, Maia could hear the boot falls of the soldiers, in counterpoint to the thumping of his heart.  

The footsteps grew closer; they were checking every alcove; they would rip open the curtains and find them both. Maia could see hope dying in Beshelar’s eyes. He felt as if he were floating in a dream- there was no fear, only a surreal sense of detachment. Would they slit their throats and let the curtain fall back to cover the corpses? But no, Beshelar would never go down without a fight. He was on the verge of calling out and surrendering; at least Beshelar might live.  

The men were standing a mere foot away; Maia could see scarred hands grasping the edge of the curtain, ready to rip it back- 

A shuddering sound broke from Beshelar’s lips like the gasp of a dying animal. “Serenity forgive me,“ he whispered against the shell of Maia’s ear, and Maia opened his mouth to tell him there was naught to forgive: there was no companion so faithful or true, no man Maia would rather die beside- 

But his words were stoppered by Beshelar’s lips.

He felt as if he were drowning and flying and falling in one. Beshelar’s lips were like a besieging army, and Maia the castle quickly breaking under his attentions. He kissed like he fought: focused, precise, and utterly without mercy. Beshelar’s hands snaked around him, one to cradle the back of his head, one to tangle in his braids. Maia fell to open mouthed moans as Beshelar moved to devour the skin of his neck. His skin felt on fire, he was hot all over, and all he could do was feel the sensations wash over him, one by one, each one entirely new.

 _Oh,_ he thought. _This is how it’s supposed to feel._

The pull of the curtain and the flood of light behind him seemed almost an afterthought, unimportant.

"Csetheio's tits!" A soldier yelped, as if the breasts of the star goddess might protect him from the sight of two men kissing. 

"You dragged us into a marnei bar, and you've found marnei," said his companion, examining his nails. 

"We didn't realize they'd be..." the soldier trailed off, waving his hand in Maia's direction rather than describing the horror he'd been made to witness.  

His companion was suddenly leaning closer, frowning at Maia over Beshelar's shoulder. “He’s half goblin, looks about the right age…”

Beshelar turned to glare at him. "You lot finished gawking? I paid the boy for the hour, and I've a mind to put the time to good use." 

 The first soldier looked a bit pale at that, but the second just rolled his eyes. “We’re looking for the Emperor of the Elflands-“

“The Emperor!” Beshelar crowed. “A thousand pardons, but if this were the Emperor of the Elflands he’d be charging a hell of a lot more than five marks for a poke.”

“Nevertheless, if this _were_ the Emperor-“

“Now, lads.” Beshelar smiled and leaned closer to them, as if he was letting them in on a great secret. “We’ve done time on the Evresseian front. We have great respect for the service, and know you’re just trying to do your jobs. With all that in mind, consider this: do you really want to bring a marnis whore in front of your commander?" 

 The two men traded a glance, and at length the first sighed. "Well, get on with it then.”

Beshelar offered the man a look of studied insouciance. "Didn't pay for an audience."

With a murmured curse, the soldier released the curtain so that the alcove was once more ensconced in darkness. Maia clung to Beshelar, hardly daring to breathe as the footsteps receded down the hall, paused at the staircase, and then descended into the murmur of the bar below. They sit in silence for another heartbeat, and then Beshelar let out a long, shuddering breath.

Maia couldn’t help it, he began to laugh. “Beshelar, thou art a genius.”

His laughter faded away when he realized that Beshelar was silent beside him, his body rigid and breath taut. “Art thou well?” he asked, laying a hand on Beshelar’s shoulder.

Beshelar inhaled a gasp of breath. “Are we well? Are we well?” he said, voice just a hair shy of hysteria. “We have disrespected the imperial office; we have ravished your own imperial person-“

Maia could tell that he was just getting started, had a mental list of his own perceived crimes a mile long that, if given time, he would be happy to elucidate one by one.

“Beshelar,” he cut in, “thou saved my life.”

“We should resign,” Beshelar whispered, the syllables broken as they tripped from his lips. “We should be in irons.”

Filled with righteous indignation, Maia reached over and laid his hands on Beshelar’s shoulders so that the other man was forced to look at him. “Thou hast done nothing wrong. Unless thou thinkest that I would see thee as less, for coming to such a place. But how could I?” He blushed, hoping the darkness hid it. “For I know little enough of love, certainly not enough to judge.” He bit his lip, saw the motion reflected in the shadow of Beshelar’s eyes. “And I had thought, when the soldiers came, that if I was to die, there was no man I would rather die beside. How could such a thing be wrong?”

That, at least, brought a small smile to Beshelar’s face. “I suppose you wish me to stay in your service, then?”

“Only if you wish to stay,” he replied. In his own ears his voice was filled with all of his old hesitance. What if Beshelar did wish to leave him? What then?

But Beshelar was kneeling on the floor beneath him, clasping Maia’s hands in his own like a promise. His eyes were shining in the dark. “Always, Serenity,” he murmured. “Until death takes me, I shall be at thy side.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Breezy and Airotkiv for all of the help!


End file.
